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“You’re twisting everything. I’m not—”
“Answer the question. Am I wrong?” she insists.
“But—”
She raises her voice. “Am I wrong?”
“No!” he snaps.
A crooked, victorious smile covers the woman’s face.
“Thank you. That will be all.” She turns on her heels and edges her way back to Lauren. My father’s head drops between his hands. This is exactly what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to discredit himself, to make it seem like his claims could not be taken seriously. She wanted to reduce his testimony to garbage. And she did just that.
I’ve never been so conflicted in my life.
Did he mean that?
Haze gets off the stand, walking back to his seat, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and watch. The trial carries on. Numbers concerning Lauren are splattered onto the judge’s plate: her low income, her hectic work schedule, you name it, they have it. I dare a gaze toward my mother. I haven’t seen her once since my father kicked her out ten months ago. She looks composed, confident in her ability to win this, and it only allows doubt to dig deeper into my skin.
“May 12, 2002. 3:14 a.m. Winter Kingston, three years old, was spotted by a neighbor playing alone outside of the building she resided at. He called the police, convinced that her parents had lost her. He was wrong. Her mother was having a party in their one-bedroom apartment and didn’t notice that her kid had walked off. Social services looked further into this and considered taking Winter away unless her mother provided her with a stable, safe, and loving environment. Which she was only able to provide when she married Mr. Gale a matter of days later. If he hadn’t been in the picture, odds are Winter Kingston would’ve grown up in foster care. This simple fact alone should tell you everything you need to know.”
The judge’s face remains unreadable.
“Winter Kingston also dropped out of school to tend to her father, who was injured in a hit-and-run near a year ago. She had to care for the household when her mother never showed up after her husband’s accident, which, may I remind you, is the day Haze Adams dropped by the family house and found her highly intoxicated. Leaving a fourteen-year-old kid unattended after he was just in an accident and possibly lost his father, not to mention neglecting to go pick up her five-year-old daughter, doesn’t exactly scream good parenting to me. Does it to you?”
I’m trying, with every fiber of my being, to focus, but my mind is tirelessly fighting out of its cage, desperate to wander back to Haze. I can’t stop hearing his voice as he says that he loves me.
He can’t. He can’t still love me.
I don’t still love him.
I could never.
Not after everything.
Right?
I can’t deal with this right now. No matter what he just said up there. No matter if he meant it.
Today is about Maika.
When we’re given a much-deserved break, I’m the first one out of the door. At the end of this wait… is the answer to our question: Will Lauren get to take Maika home?
Matt: On my way. So sorry I couldn’t make it to the first half.
I read Matt’s text quickly. Not going to lie, I’m thankful he wasn’t there to hear Haze say those things. He’s asked me about my ex multiple times before, but I only told him the bare minimum. That Haze broke my heart. Desperate to get a bit of fresh air—and also to avoid running into Haze inside—I step out of the building and sit on the cold stone stairs. I text Matt back and decide I should head back inside when…
“Hey.”
I hate my life.
Sensing his presence behind me, I curse under my breath and turn around. He’s standing one step higher than me. I didn’t get to take in his outfit earlier. He’s wearing a long-sleeve button-down white shirt and a black tie. Hard, tight, sculpted body? Still here. Piercing gaze? Check. His brown hair is a gorgeous mess, his skin glowing with a natural tan. His hands slip into his pockets as he stares at me with his damn puppy eyes.
Why couldn’t he just have turned ugly this past year?
“Hey,” I breathe out.
“How are you?”
